


The Gunmetal Blues

by taichara



Category: Gundam SEED & Cosmic Era Gundam
Genre: Giant Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 15:30:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19948534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: Work's work, but that doesn't mean Canard's taking any sass.





	The Gunmetal Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalloway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalloway/gifts).



"So you're working behind their backs. Nice."

Sensible people didn't talk back to prospective employers, but if there was one thing Canard knew damn well it was that he checked out of 'sensible' pretty much from the day he was born. Probably 'sane', too, but whatever. His obsessions carried him this far, and he was still alive.

_And at least I admit I'm crazy and obsessive, unlike this idiot._

Ignoring the chiding little whisper in his ear -- not _now_ , Prayer, go the hell away for once -- he eyed said prospective employer up and down and didn't bother to wipe the half-grin from his face. What was the high and mighty Athrun Zala going to do, up and walk away from the insult? Nah. He didn't dare, or he wouldn't have come nosing around looking for Canard and his people in the first place.

From his perch on Hyperion's foot, Canard thought that Athrun looked uncomfortable. 

Well, good.

Athrun muttered something about needing to be discreet and not wanting to stir up unnecessary potential hostilities and a few other choice words; he was looking away from Canard like he was embarrassed to even be there, and the hot fire of rage ignited along Canard's veins. He tamped down on the anger, but only just, and his retort was a fiery hiss.

"Listen to me, you smug prick. You've got a lot of nerve, harping on about _avoiding hostilities_ and bullshit like that while you're standing in the middle of a hangar full of mobile suits trying to buy a merc contract. Take your sanctimoniousness and shove it, because I know damn well you change your mind like you change your fucking socks. _Everyone_ knows."

An equally angry arm-fling took in the ranks of waiting units, the maintenance gear, the racks of immense weaponry bolted to the walls -- and Hyperion looming overhead like a protective gargoyle. Athrun was flushing with embarrassment but oh no, Canard wasn't finished. Not yet.

"So don't expect me or mine to lift a goddamned finger unless it's in writing, _Zala_."

He spat the name, was rewarded with a flinch. _Good._ Let him remember how good his life was, the prick --

"I'll sign the contract and keep an eye on your precious Orb since _apparently_ you can't take the risk of being seen dirtying yourself in a 'machine of war' now. But it's going to have riders in it, and the first one is this: we aren't taking shit from you or your little friends. Got it?

"The next time you start bleating Clyne's lines about peace and 'unnecessary conflict', you remember you came to a merc unit to save your skin."

Speech over. Canard relented a hair -- still ignoring the little whisper that told him he wasn't entirely wrong, but -- and deliberately settled into a more relaxed pose, tapping gloved fingers against Hyperion's spotless paint.

"Sign it, and we'll get the job done. The fallout's _your_ job."


End file.
